<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>For what his eyes eat only by midwinter_day</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23547175">For what his eyes eat only</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/midwinter_day/pseuds/midwinter_day'>midwinter_day</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hornblower (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:46:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>408</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23547175</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/midwinter_day/pseuds/midwinter_day</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>This was meant to be part of larger work that was never finished but I liked this bit enough to post as-is.</p><p>I know how unlikely it is for the son of an actress to get a midshipman’s berth but just because Archie’s father is a Lord, does not mean his mother is a Lady.</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>For what his eyes eat only</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was meant to be part of larger work that was never finished but I liked this bit enough to post as-is.</p><p>I know how unlikely it is for the son of an actress to get a midshipman’s berth but just because Archie’s father is a Lord, does not mean his mother is a Lady.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The last time he saw her, the time that he most remembers, he was just a child and she was a lady-cum-fairy queen, ethereal, and foreboding. But she was not playing Titania that night. She was Cleopatra, painted in kohl and rouge with golden jewelry ablaze under the candlelight, enchanting to a child’s eye.  </p><p>He was laying belly down along the walkway in the flies, little head dangling precariously against the very top of the Egyptian palace backdrop. One of the bigger boys, Samuel, who worked backstage doing the heavy lifting and running errands, was meant to watch him, but he’d given him to slip ages ago. He doubted Sam even gave him a second thought, once he was out of his sight and climbing up, up, up into the rafters.</p><p>And Archie thought little of Sam’s irritation, his mother’s vexation, or his own fear of heights as soon as the tragedy began. He was transported to Egypt on a cloud, in a dream, hazy and heightened and shining, each actor bathed in it, masked by it. Even Archie’s lovely mother slipped beneath the glimmering gauze of a meek and mild Octavia. </p><p>It was Miss Cobham who burned brightest, a brilliant Cleopatra, Antony dying in her arms.</p><p>“Oh, withered is the garland of the war. The soldier’s pole is fall’n! Young boys and girls Are level now with men. The odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.” Her mournful words were carried up to Archie as her face looked to that imagined Nubian sky. They caught each other’s gaze. Archie was transfixed, mouth agape and eyes wide while her face gave only a flicker of recognition in something that was not quite a smile. </p><p>She put the back of her hand to her forehead and she swooned, her body going limp on the stage, the picture burning more white and hot in his memory. </p><p>He found his mother later while she was looking for him. Her face was scrubbed of Octavia. She fixed him with a hard reprimanding gaze and said, “Archie,” like a roll of thunder.  </p><p>He was not easily cowed in those days, but he was sharp enough to look it in front of his mother as she appraised him, all glassy eyes, fevered cheeks, and false shame. She touched his pink face gently and smiled. “Oh, my boy. You’ll be a fine actor one day.”</p><p>And he had beamed.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>